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The Confession of Miss Sunshine

There is something so inherently taxing about being a woman. Or maybe that is just my period talking. Yes, I said that out loud. Publicly. As if it is some radical act to acknowledge the simple biology of existing in a female body. I have never understood why we are made to whisper about something that visits us every month like a recurring storm. One week out of four. One quarter of our lives. And emotionally? Let’s just say I was not surprised to discover that there are barely two weeks in a cycle where a woman truly feels like herself, balanced, clear, steady. Imagine living in a body that feels like it is negotiating with you half the time. Half the time. That is not poetic exaggeration; that is arithmetic. If you are a girl reading this, consider this your validation. If you are a man, thank you for trying to imagine it. But trust me, it is heavier than imagination allows. Still, this is not really about periods. Or even about womanhood. This is about a confession. I am tired. Not...
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Reconciling Feminism, Patriarchy, and My Faith

What does it mean to be a feminist as a Christian woman? I want to preface this by saying two things: First, I believe that every Christian who genuinely seeks to understand the word of God, to some extent, embodies feminist principles. Second, no matter where I am in life or where I go, I will always be deeply grateful to feminism and the feminist community. The sense of sisterhood and empowerment it gave me has profoundly shaped who I am in a unique and beautiful way. With that in mind, I find myself grappling with a challenging realization: I stand at a crossroads where both patriarchy and feminism have, in their own ways, sown seeds of disillusionment toward men. Whether it’s the poor logic and judgment of misogynistic, patriarchal figures in my life or the growing reality of how men mistreat women—coupled with the idea that change is improbable and the narrative that good men are rare—both have led me to wrestle with an uncomfortable discontent. Yet, amidst this confusion, I hold ...
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Because I too am a human being.

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 "I do not wish to be protected, I wish to not need protection!" The recent news of yet another woman—a mother—enduring unspeakable brutality in the name of culture and tradition left me in shock. If you haven’t heard, this woman now lies in critical condition after being publicly beaten by her husband, an act sanctioned by community elders. Tied to a tree like an animal, she was brutalized in front of her children and neighbors—people she once trusted—all because she refused to return to her abusive, addict husband. A man trained by the military, he beat her mercilessly, and not a single person stepped in to stop him. Time and again, I hear "culture" used as an excuse whenever I demand basic human rights for women. But after hearing this story, I had to pause and reconsider its meaning. The dictionary says culture refers to the shared beliefs, values, and customs that define a society. Is this what we believe in? Is this the behavior that defines us? Have we become...
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No More!

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Trigger Warning This post discusses sensitive topics including assault, abuse, and trauma. If you or someone you know may be affected by these issues, please take care of yourself while reading. It’s okay to step away if you need to. When will it be enough?  When I was four years old, the mentally ill brother of the owner of the house we rented dragged me into a storage room while I was on my way to the toilet. He pulled out his penis and asked me to "show him mine because he showed me his". It was terrifying, by some miracle the wife, his sister-in-law, unexpectedly opened the storage room, and I survived. She instructed me not to say anything and to ignore him because he was ill. I didn't understand what happened, and I was even more clueless of what could have happened.  All I knew was for my four year old brain seeing the male genitalia was traumatizing. So I did what every child does, I cried to my parents when they came home, completely forgetting the warning I was...
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Happy birthday to me

 The Quest against Time and the Fear of aging:  "Age is a funny thing. When you're young, you can't wait to grow up, excited for each birthday, bragging about being older, all because it symbolizes the freedom of being able to do anything, to be anyone. Your fantasies ranged from astronauts to presidents, models to princes or princesses. Then years go by and you find yourself dreading the next year, finding yourself under the pressure of becoming someone, walking away from the belief that you can be anything or anyone you want to be. You put yourself in this four-sided box, always trying to be this idea of someone you should be.  And instead, each approaching birthday feels like another reminder of how many years you've been on this planet and how little you've accomplished; another reminder of feeling unaccomplished and not as powerful as you thought you were; and you then find yourself racing against time to be somebody, do something, because then you'll be w...
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Finding my way back home

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"Let my faith change my life, not justify it!"   Years ago, when I was struggling in high school, I announced I was an atheist; I didn't want to believe in God anymore; I was even doubting His existence. Looking back, that was one of the biggest cornerstones in my life, and I mean my whole life, not just spiritually. It was the first time I had seriously questioned and even walked away from the religion I had inherited—the religion I was raised in. I saw God through new eyes, and I got to know him personally. When I did, I knew I had found my home.   It's funny how, now, I can't even imagine not having God in my life. Not know him like I do or have the relationship I do. If you had asked me then about miracles, I would probably give an answer that would let you know how cynical I was, but today I would say, "Of course I know about miracles; I am standing here today because of not one, not two, but millions of big and small miracles God has given me throug...
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A small step forward - Healing

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 "A little step goes a long way." I don't remember when I first learned about the concept of mental health , or even when I started to try and understand mine. For a young girl from a  'developing' country it is not exactly a term that is normalized. And though it has not been an easy road, I am glad that I did. I had once read a quote that stuck with me; it was something along the lines of '... how sad it is to have to live your life translating your love because you love someone who doesn't speak your language...' I may have butchered the quote, but you get the gist. I had then thought it was worse to have to live your life translating their love because they fail to love you in the way you deserve.   Now I think it is worse to live your life misunderstood because you never knew how to translate your pain in a way those around you could understand. How can you when you can barely understand it yourself? That feeling of doubting yourself—feeling like ...
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